


Daisies

by glockenspielium



Category: Sweeney Todd (2007)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Missing Scene, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glockenspielium/pseuds/glockenspielium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prison teaches Benjamin Barker three very important lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daisies

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many delicious missing scenes from Sweeney Todd, here is my attempt at what might have happened before he was shipped off to Australia (yay!), not canon but hopefully in character!

The prison bars were deceptive.

From the far wall of his cell, they appeared to be far enough apart for, perhaps, a slender man like himself to slip between the gaps. Not that he would have any chance of escape, but a glimmer of hope was better than nothing.  
It was only five steps from where he'd landed against the far wall when the guards had tossed him into the cell. Five small steps at that, his legs were weak and shaky. The bars felt cold and menacing in his grasp, so unlike the deft, inviting silver of his razors.  
A glimmer of hope, from a prison cell, is better than nothing.  
And hours of trying and blisters and bruises had not manifested to nothing, no- it had only taught him something of great importance; Benjamin Barker would not survive the torment of prison.

A stingy ray of sunlight struggled feebly down between the bars of the high window, pretending to illuminate the cell; which defiantly remained as black as ever.  
Huddled in the corner, days of imprisonment and solitude had begun to take their toll of what remained of Benjamin Barker.  
Eyes that were once warm and laughing had turned black and sullen, as dark smudges stained the skin under his eyes, like ever-present shadows.  
Hands which had been soft and delicate now only had a faint memory of the smooth, slick silver of his blade beneath his hand, or the young soft skin of his daughters cheek; they were deformed, hard and calloused from hours of being dragged along the perimeter of his cell, as their owner had paced, like a sulking lion- trying to hang onto the thought of his family, his home, escape; anything.

The trial was quick, and he supposed he should have been thankful for that.  
Not that he was surprised; the whole town knew only too well the extent of Turpin's greed, and the insurmountable nature of his power. It was what he had expected, a list of false charges, no jury or chance for rebuke, just a sentence and the bang of a small wooden hammer- and Benjamin Barker was a condemned man.

She came to visit him two days after the trial.  
He should have been angry that she had waited so long to come, but he wasn't. He should have been inspired by her presence to fight even harder to finds a means of escape, but somehow that something inside of him, the rebellious candle waiting to be lit by anger or fear, or even love, could not find light.  
She could see it.

That was the last time he saw Lucy.

Others would come, never for him, but not matter how hard he searched the darkness, hoping for a glimpse of yellow hair, venturing down the long corridor; it never came again.  
He could feel it.  
Even the prison guards noticed it. Eventually, he no longer lingered at the bars, staring down the empty halls, waiting for the change. No longer were the long night shifts punctuated from the muffled sobs of cell 6. His days and nights were silent, his eyes empty, both void of any signs of warmth.

Then there was  _her._  Every third day, without fail, she would come.  
He wasn't supposed to have any visitors, she'd said as much. But, "Mrs. Lovett," she'd said, with a knowledgeable wink, "Could get past things far more cleverer than the lot what guard this place."  
And she never came alone, always with little things for him, a bread roll or an apple, a handful of nuts, always hidden up a sleeve, carefully dangerous.  
Her visits helped him mark the days.

Then once, to his great surprise, from what he'd assumed to be her hair ornaments, she pulled out three daisies, stems and all. Reaching through the bars, she leaned them against the stone wall, unnaturally white amid the dank cell.  
He wasn't quite able to manage the mumbled, "Thank you", which usually accompanied her little gifts, but she seemed to understand, "Course I know, not 'alf as useful as a nice slice of bread, told meself, but then, it's so bloody 'orrible and dark in 'ere, not your fault luv, but maybe some pretty flowers.."  
Too many words, but more than he deserved. From her, at least.

It was only after she left that he drew himself to the other side to examine the daisies. To his surprise, they were not as beautiful as they appeared from a distance, the petals slightly yellowed and creased, the stem bent (no doubt from being stored in those torrents of red hair), nowhere near as delicate as the flowers the Barkers often bought at the market- and yet they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Imperfect, but full of hope.  
The second lesson prison taught him: context changes everything.

That was the last time Nellie Lovett saw Benjamin Barker.

Watching from the shadows as this faint and broken man reached out to touch the humble flowers, as if to prove they were as he relished the feeling of their precious white petals, and with the pained movements of an older, sicker man, brought the yellow centre to his nose, drowning out the stench of desperation and desolation.  
Watching as he placed the flower back against the wall, carefully, with the pride only fathers seems to manage. Exactly as she had arranged them, with the precision of a barber.  
Watching as the guards came, as he tried to hide the flowers, as they were crushed beneath heavy boots and taunts.  
Watching as they dragged him out of the cell, outside to the waiting carriage, to take him away so the world could forget him.  
Watching as he did not fight, his arms were still, his face, blank.

His black eyes glinted like silver daggers in the night.

A third and final lesson. A lesson and a warning.  
Never forgive. Never forget.

Sweeney Todd would have his revenge.


End file.
